Connections
by MyAibou
Summary: Ryou Bakura returns to Egypt to try and understand the origins of the Spirit of the Ring. As he struggles to come to terms with his connections to the past, he finds solace—and a new connection—from Marik Ishtar. RBxMI. YAOIish. End of series spoilers.
1. Return to Egypt

**CONNECTIONS**

While working on the outline for the sequel to _Revival_, I realized that Bakura and Marik will be pretty significant side characters, but will be introduced as an already established couple. I figure they deserve to have their own story that shows how they got together ('cause hey, more opportunity for smut!), so I decided to tackle that as a shorter piece before beginning the longer sequel in earnest. It's set between the prologue and part I of _Revival_ while Yugi is studying in Egypt. This is a stand-alone, but the prologue of _Revival_ fills in the background of the Pharaoh's memories.

**Summary:** Ryou Bakura returns to Egypt to try and understand the origins of the Spirit of the Ring. As he struggles to come to terms with his connections to the past, he finds solace—and a new connection—from Marik Ishtar. BakuraxMarik (not their Yamis!). **End of series spoilers.**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Bakura, Marik, or any of the other _Yu-gi-oh_ characters, but then you already knew that.

**Rating:** T for language, shonen-ai/yaio.

* * *

**1. Return to Egypt**

"Hey Bakura, over here!"

Ryou Bakura looked through the crowd gathered around baggage carousal number three of Cairo International Airport to see a short, spiky-haired young man waving his arm and jumping up and down to see over the crowd. Like Bakura, Yugi Mutou was eighteen, but at barely five feet tall—a good half a foot shorter than Bakura—with wide, innocent violet eyes, he looked more like he was twelve.

With a small smile, Bakura waved back. "Hello, Yugi," he said as his friend pushed through the throng of people and arrived at his side.

Yugi and Bakura stood awkwardly a moment. Neither of them were particularly demonstrative people; Bakura was British and Yugi was rather shy, so greeting with a hug wasn't in either of their natures, but after all the two of them had been through together—and survived—over the past three years, a handshake or bow didn't seem appropriate, either. Finally they settled on a handclasp and a pat on each other's shoulders.

"It's good to see you," Yugi said solemnly. "We missed you after graduation."

Bakura merely nodded, letting the reason he had left Japan for England as soon as they'd graduated high school remain unspoken.

Yugi took a breath and his smile returned. "Professor Hawkins and Rebecca are out in the car," he informed Bakura brightly. "How many bags do you have?"

"Just one. An olive green duffle bag." Bakura pushed his shoulder-length white hair out of his dark brown eyes. "I really appreciate you and the professor letting me stay with you a few days while I'm in Cairo."

"It's no problem," Yugi replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. "The professor said you're welcome to stay longer if you'd like."

"No, I don't want to impose," Bakura replied uneasily. "Besides, I'm anxious to get to Luxor."

Yugi didn't reply and Bakura wondered if Yugi's demons weren't all that different from his own. True, the spirit that had possessed Yugi and shared his body for three years had been a friend, not a homicidal maniac like the one that had controlled Bakura for so long, but still… they were both here in Egypt, weren't they?

"Is that your bag?" Yugi asked suddenly, pointing. Indeed, Bakura's duffle had appeared on the baggage carousal. Bakura slipped through the mob, pulled it off the belt, and hoisted it over his shoulder, following Yugi outside.

**

* * *

**

Professor Hawkins, his granddaughter Rebecca, and Yugi shared a charming rental house on the edge of the city. Like Bakura's father, Professor Hawkins was an archaeologist. His granddaughter was a lively blond girl of eleven who was so bright she was already a college student who would likely complete her bachelor's degree in information technology by the time she was a teenager. Yugi was a freshman Egyptology student studying under Professor Hawkins' tutelage. When they arrived at the house, a lovely dinner, prepared by the housekeeper, was waiting for them.

Professor Hawkins asked Bakura many questions about his father's work. Though the two archaeologists had never met, apparently they had several mutual friends. Bakura answered the questions politely, all the while wishing they could change the subject. He was not close with his father and especially disliked talking about his work. It had been his work, after all, that had brought Bakura the Millennium Ring, and it had been the Millennium Ring that had brought him the evil spirit that he'd known only as "the Voice," but that everyone else had called by his own name.

"Professor," Yugi cut in, "I'll bet Bakura doesn't know about the Atlantis ruins you found."

"Oh, well," the professor began, and Bakura shot Yugi a grateful look.

By the time dinner was over, it was late, so Yugi led Bakura to his room where they would both be sleeping. Bakura tried to take the sleeping bag on the floor, but Yugi wouldn't hear of it, so Bakura reluctantly agreed to take Yugi's bed. They settled in, but neither was particularly tired and Bakura was still on London time, which was two hours behind Cairo, so they stayed up and talked for a long while. Yugi filled him in on all their mutual friends and talked about his studies, while Bakura told him about the six months he'd spent in England.

When they'd run out of small talk, they fell silent. Bakura thought maybe Yugi had fallen asleep, but then he heard the sleeping bag rustle on the floor below him. "Bakura?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you come to Egypt?"

Bakura propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at his friend. Through the gloom he could see Yugi lying on his back, his hands clasped behind his head. "The same reason you did, I expect. Well, not to study Egyptology," he amended. "That would be too close to following in my father's footsteps for comfort. But, you know, to _understand_."

"Understand where _he_ came from, you mean."

"Yes."

Yugi was silent again for a moment. "Bakura? You said that when the Spirit took control of you, you blacked out, right?"

Bakura chewed his lip. "That's right."

"That's how it was for me, too, at first. After I put the Millennium Puzzle together, I started having these blackouts. Eventually I learned about the other me and most of what we did after that we did together. I… I guess it wasn't like that for you, though."

"Hardly," Bakura snorted. "Your 'other self' was a great pharaoh and a friend. Mine was a psychotic maniac and… a parasite. He even called me his 'host.'"

"I can't imagine, Bakura. I'm so sorry you had to go through all that."

"Well, that is why I'm here, isn't it? To come to terms with it all."

"Hmm." Yugi replied. "Then you don't remember anything he did while he was controlling your body?"

"Why?" Bakura asked, then cringed at how defensive he sounded.

Yugi took a deep breath. "Not long after you left, a couple of weeks after graduation, I realized that I had all of Atem's memories."

Bakura sat up. "What?"

"Everything from the time he came to me until he entered the Memory World when we were in Egypt last winter. Even the stuff I didn't know about before. The early stuff I'd blacked out during. Even… even when my soul wasn't there at all. I remember everything he did, everything he thought and felt, as if _I_ did and thought and felt them."

Bakura closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. "Then it isn't just me."

"You do remember, then?"

"It… it isn't quite like you describe. The things he did are hazy, like something I did in a dream. But ever since we got back from Egypt, I started remembering what he'd done. Duelist Kingdom, Battle City… but nothing after we got to Egypt." He shuddered. "That's why I went back to England after graduation, Yugi. I thought I was going mad!"

"Yeah, me too. It was really weird at first. I'm starting to get more used to it now, but…." Bakura heard the sleeping bag rustle again and opened his eyes. Yugi was sitting up now, his arms wrapped around his knees, his eyes downcast.

"But?" Bakura prompted.

"What do you think it means? Do you…?" He stopped and took another breath. "Téa thinks it means we're really both part of the same person. That I _am_ him. Sorta."

Bakura swallowed. "And if you and the Pharaoh are the same, then I…."

Yugi looked up sharply, and even in the darkness Bakura could see the pain etched in his expression. "Oh, Bakura, you're _not_ like him. You're not. Téa, she, well, I think she has her own reasons for thinking that the Pharaoh is still part of me."

Bakura raised his eyebrows. He knew Yugi had always had a crush on Téa and that Téa quite likely had a crush on the Pharaoh. That would indeed give her reason for bias, and perhaps him a reason for wanting to believe her. And yet…. He sighed.

His time with his darker half was one long nightmare. The blackouts had been bad enough, waking up bruised and exhausted, not knowing where he'd been or what he'd been doing—or whom he'd hurt. Flashes of half-consciousness in the midst of blackness: Finding himself beaten and bloody and barely conscious in Marik Ishtar's arms before he ever remembered meeting him. In the hospital with Yugi's grandfather watching over him. In the middle of a duel against Yugi, barely able to stand, with Yugi debating whether or not he could strike the final blow. In a church in Domino, trying to fight off the last possession of his counterpart. This had been his life those years the Millennium Ring had been in his possession. Even when he'd tried to get rid of it, or someone had taken it from him, it still had been a part of him, linking him to the parasite Spirit that controlled his mind, body, and soul. Only when Yugi had defeated the Sprit once and for all and then sent his own other self on to the spirit world, destroying all seven Millennium Items in the process, had Bakura finally been freed from the bonds of his darker half.

But then the memories had started coming, filling in the blank spaces. Hazy and dream-like, but substantial nonetheless. Dueling his friends in a Shadow Game, not just as a captured soul in a card, but as the duelist. Threatening to kill ten-year-old Mokuba Kaiba to take his body. Ripping Pegasus's Millennium Eye out of its socket and licking the blood off of it. Duels and deals with Marik Ishtar's own darker half. Sending souls to the Shadow Realm. He'd thought the worst was the not knowing, the blank spaces. He'd been wrong.

Knowing was worse.

Bakura closes his eyes again. "He was dreadful, Yugi. Sadistic, callous, a sociopath. But he was a part of me."

"No," Yugi insisted, his voice cracking slightly. "That can't be right. He _possessed_ you. It wasn't _you_."

"It's more than that, and we both know it. If you're having memories from your other self, too, then you've just confirmed what I already knew."

"_No_! Forget I said anything."

"Why do you think I came to Egypt, Yugi?"

In a sort of jerky motion, Yugi lay back down again. "Let's not talk about this anymore. I'm tired," he said stiffly.

"Yes," Bakura agreed, lying down as well. "Good night, Yugi."

"Night, Bakura."

Bakura pulled the covers up closer to his chin and closed his eyes, but sleep would be a long time coming.

**

* * *

**

The rest of Bakura's stay in Cairo was enjoyable enough. When Yugi wasn't busy with his studies, he took Bakura on tours of various places of historical significance. Neither one of them mentioned their other selves again and Bakura thought it was just as well; Yugi's friendship with the spirit who had shared his body for three years made his situation radically different from Bakura's own and it seemed like neither of them would offer the other much in the way of solace or insight. Instead they chatted about their mutual friends, the differences and similarities between life in Japan, England, and Egypt, and the few high school memories that _didn't_ involve Millennium Items or possessing spirits.

The night before Bakura was to leave for Luxor, Yugi insisted on arranging for Ishizu, Marik, and Odion Ishtar to meet him at the train station when he arrived. Bakura wasn't entirely comfortable with this. His memories of meeting the Ishtars at the Battle City tournament in Domino were hazy and confused. Most of them were his counterpart's memories, and those that were truly his own were punctuated by pain and confusion. What stood out the most in his mind was that Marik Ishtar, a young Egyptian man his age, had also had a darker half and the two of them had had some sort of uneasy alliance that involved a lot of double-dealing and backstabbing on both their parts. Like Bakura, Marik had repented of his counterpart's deeds and turned his life around after Yugi had banished his darker self to the Shadow Realm, but still, it made Bakura uneasy to be spending time with people with whom he shared a deep connection and yet were somehow still complete strangers to him. Nevertheless, Yugi had insisted and the Ishtars had been pleased to offer him a ride to his hotel and to show him around Luxor and it would have been rude to refuse, so he reluctantly agreed.

At the train station in Cairo, there was another awkward moment as Yugi and Bakura again debated on the best way to bid each other farewell. Again they settled on a handclasp, and Bakura put his other hand on Yugi's shoulder, letting it remain a moment.

"Yugi, don't worry about me. Each of us has to find our own way of coming to terms with our connections to the ancient past. Find your own meaning in the Pharaoh's memories, all right?"

Yugi nodded uncomfortably and then Bakura decided to hell with being so reserved and he pulled his shorter friend into a brief hug. Then he boarded the train and settled in for the long ride to Luxor and the Valley of the Kings. The place his darker half had called home.


	2. The Dark and the Light

**2. The Dark and the Light **

By the time Bakura arrived in Luxor, his muscles were stiff from the nine hours spent on the train. It had been an interesting ride through lovely scenery, however. Though he had been to Egypt only once before, he felt intimately connected with the land here. He had grown up hearing stories about Egypt and its pyramids and tombs from his father, and ever since he'd had the Millennium Ring it had felt as if a little bit of his soul had been forged here. England and Japan were both home to him in ancestry and upbringing, but Egypt was somehow like native soil in a way neither other place could ever be.

As he made his way down the aisle to exit the train, he spotted through the window a group of four standing together on the platform, watching the passengers emerge from the train. Three of them he recognized from Battle City two years previous and from his trip to Egypt last winter, while the fourth was a woman he'd never seen before.

In the center, flanked by her two brothers, was Ishizu Ishtar, a regal twenty-two-year-old woman of medium height, copper complexion, sleek black hair, and deep turquoise eyes. Despite being the shortest of the group, Ishizu had the most commanding presence among them and carried herself with a majestic bearing that would have made the royalty from either of Bakura's home countries envious. Towering over her on her right was her adopted brother, Odion. In his late twenties, Odion had dark green eyes and was bald except for a black ponytail that hung down his back. Egyptian hieroglyphs were tattooed into his dark caramel skin down the left side of his face, which, coupled with the grim expression he almost always wore, made him appear somewhat menacing, but he actually was the most diffident of the group—at least of the three Bakura knew. To Odion's right stood a tall, slender woman in her mid-twenties whom Bakura had never seen before. She had rich dark skin, small black eyes, and black hair pulled into an elegant braid that hung down her back. This must be Odion's wife, Rashida, Bakura mused. Before he'd left Cairo, Yugi had told him that Odion had gotten married not more than a month ago.

On Ishizu's left side, in stark contrast to the formality of the other three, stood Ishizu's other brother, Marik. Slightly shorter than Odion and the same age as Bakura, Marik had the same copper skin as his sister, but with pale lavender eyes and a mane of long platinum blond hair that was almost incandescent. Where the other three were draped in traditional Egyptian or middle-eastern attire, Marik's sleeveless hooded light-pink crop top and black cargo pants were decidedly more western. He wore a lot of jewelry; long gold earrings dangled from both ears and thick gold bands adorned his neck, forearms, and upper arms. He slouched in an almost insolent way, with legs apart and thumbs careless crooked in his belt loops. Of all of them, Marik made Bakura the most nervous, mostly because of the history their darker counterparts shared, but also because of his flamboyant demeanor and, Bakura realized swallowing uncomfortably, because he was quite simply one of the most stunning men he had ever met.

As Bakura made his way down the steps to the platform, Ishizu spotted him and smiled, then led her entourage toward him. "Bakura, it is good to see you again," she said warmly. "I hope your train ride was pleasant."

"Yes," Bakura said, feeling awkward.

"You remember my brothers Odion and Marik? And this is my sister-in-law Rashida," she introduced. Bakura shook Odion's and then Rashida's hands before turning to Marik.

"Bakura, I'm glad you decided to come back to Egypt," Marik said, shaking his hand. "I think you'll find there is much to learn here."

"Yes, I'm sure I will," Bakura replied, not sure what else to say.

"You must be tired and hungry after the long train ride," Ishizu said. "Let's get you to your hotel and then we would love for you to join us for dinner."

"That's very kind of you, but please don't go out of your way. You must be very busy."

"Never too busy to spend time with an old friend," Ishizu assured him. Though she had meant it kindly, it was another reminder that whatever connections they had to his counterpart, to him they were still largely strangers.

* * *

After dinner, Bakura had intended to return to his hotel room and to get some sleep before getting an early start the next day. He didn't have a plan, exactly. He knew he wanted to see the museum in Luxor, the various monuments around the city, and of course, the Valley of the Kings, but he wasn't sure exactly where to start or what he hoped to accomplish. He politely declined Marik's offer to show him around, but when Marik insisted that it was too early too retire and he had to see some of the nightlife Luxor had to offer, he wouldn't take no for an answer. They found themselves at a quiet café with a name Bakura couldn't pronounce but Marik said translated to "The Crocodile." It boasted a spectacular view of the Nile, excellent Turkish coffee, and an absolutely fabulous traditional Egyptian raisin cake called umm ali.

"I hope you don't mind my asking," Marik began as he sipped his coffee, "but I was wondering if Yugi talked with you about his experience with the Pharaoh's memories."

Bakura chewed his lip nervously. "If you mean how he remembers things the Pharaoh did while inhabiting his body, even things he wasn't conscious of previously, yes, he mentioned it. We didn't really talk about it much."

Marik raised his eyebrows. "Huh. He's been sort of obsessed with it ever since he got here. I would've thought he would have jumped at the chance to talk to someone with similar experiences. At least, I'm guessing you've had similar experiences. Are you remembering things your other self did?"

"Yes," Bakura admitted, "but it isn't exactly the same as what Yugi described to me. The memories are a little hazy. And really, Yugi's and my experiences weren't exactly the same. He shared a deep bond with his counterpart. I… well, I was more of a prisoner, wasn't I? And you know Yugi. He wants to always think the best of everyone. He wants to believe he can be what the Pharaoh was, that he was more than just a vessel. But at the same time, he wants to believe I have no connection with the spirit that inhabited me, that we are completely separate. That… that the Pharaoh's mortal enemy is not the same person as his classmate."

Marik nodded thoughtfully. "What do you think, Bakura? Were you just a vessel or was the connection deeper?"

Bakura sighed in frustration. "I don't know. I know I was powerless, that I could do nothing while he was controlling me. And yet…" He trailed off, unsure how to finish.

"And yet, he is still _you,_" Marik finished for him.

"Yes."

Marik leaned forward, templing his fingers under his chin. "When I came home after Battle City, all I wanted was to distance myself from my darker half, to make him a completely separate entity from the real me. I wanted to believe I'm not capable of the horrible things he did. That I wouldn't rape people's minds and control them, that I wouldn't play sick mind games with innocent bystanders like Mai Valentine or Téa Gardner or Joey Wheeler. That was _Yami _Marik, not _me._ Sound familiar?"

Bakura sighed. "Yes, quite familiar."

"The thing is, the more I tried to separate myself from him, the more he controlled me. Even when he was gone, even when I was back home and trying to live my life and fulfill my duties as Tomb Keeper. He was always like this stain I couldn't quite wash away, like Lady Macbeth and the blood she thought she couldn't wash from her hands even when it wasn't really there anymore."

"Yes, that's it exactly!" Bakura said nodding, surprised at how deeply Marik's words resonated with him. "'Here's the smell of the blood still; all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand,'" he quoted from _Macbeth_, closing his eyes as the coppery taste of blood assaulted his memory. Not King Duncan's blood, but Pegasus's blood from the Millennium Eye, ripped out of its socket by his darker self. Ripped out with _his_ hand. Licked with _his_ tongue. The blood in _his_ mouth.

Then he felt a hand on his. His eyes flew open and he jerked his hand away from Marik's. If the Egyptian was offended, he didn't show it. Resolutely, he reached for Bakura's hand again, covering it with his own. "It can get better, Bakura," he said softly, "but not by distancing yourself from him. The only way to put the past behind you is to accept it. I _am _capable of raping people's minds and playing sick mind games. But I don't have to choose to be that person anymore. Whatever your connection with the other Bakura, it's in the past. Accept it and choose differently from this point on."

Bakura nodded numbly, accepting the comfort Marik's touch offered him. After a moment, Marik pulled his hand away and Bakura's cheeks reddened slightly as he realized that how much he wanted that small contact to continue.

"You know, in a way, I think Yugi faces the same challenge," Marik continued thoughtfully. "The reasons are different for him, but he has just as much trouble accepting his other self as a part of him as we do. The difference is we don't _want_ it to be true while he doesn't believe he's _good enough_ for it to be true."

"That sounds like Yugi," Bakura agreed.

"But I think you and I are more alike, even though your other half's origins are more similar to Yugi's," Marik went on. He suddenly sat up straight and slapped his hands on the table. "I'd like you to reconsider letting me show you around Luxor. I think that maybe I can help you find what you came to Egypt seeking."

Bakura considered this. "Actually, I would like that very much," he agreed.


	3. Reasons to Stay

**3. Reasons to Stay**

For the better part of two weeks, Bakura spent most of his time in Marik's company. During the days, the Egyptian would play tour guide, taking Bakura on his motorcycle to the various monuments and tombs for which Luxor was famous, or to other places that were of more personal significance, or even boating along the Nile in a traditional Egyptian felucca.

Evenings were spent learning about modern-day Egypt and the nightlife of Luxor. The drinking age in Egypt was sixteen, so they had no problem getting into the bars and nightclubs, most of which were at the tourist resorts along the Nile. After Marik got into a terse discussion in Arabic with someone he seemed to know, however, they'd stayed away from the club scene, which suited Bakura just fine. He preferred the quiet atmosphere of coffee houses or cafés where they could talk or even just walking along the Nile after sunset when it was cool enough to actually enjoy being outdoors.

"So how long are you planning on staying in Egypt?" Marik asked him one night as they sat at The Crocodile, that same café where they'd gone on Bakura's first night in Luxor.

Bakura shrugged. "I don't really have a plan. My tourist visa is good for up to three months, but unfortunately my money won't last quite that long. I suppose I'll have to go back to England and get a job and do something with my life."

Marik was silent for a moment. "Do you want to go back to England?"

"Not really. I could go to Japan, too, I suppose. I have dual citizenship, at least until I'm twenty and Japan says I have to choose one or the other."

"Would you be interested in staying and working at the museum?" Marik asked him.

Bakura raised his eyebrows. "Here in Luxor?"

"Of course in Luxor," Marik snorted. "Ishizu's pretty much in charge of everything here and has a lot of pull with the government as well. They always need tour guides who speak fluent English and the fact that you're also fluent in Japanese would be a plus as well."

"Of course, my Arabic is rubbish," Bakura reminded him, but Marik gave a dismissive wave of the hand.

"You wouldn't need Arabic to work with tourists, and you'd learn eventually. Are you interested?"

Bakura considered it. "I don't know what I want. I don't feel ready to leave yet, but I don't know if I really have a reason to stay long-term, either. I feel as if… I'm still searching."

Marik nodded. "Okay. Consider it, though. If you'd like to stay, Ishizu can arrange it."

Bakura cocked his head and regarded Marik for a moment. "What about you, Marik? What exactly do you do here, when you aren't stuck playing tour guide to hopeless British tourists, that is?"

"I enjoy playing tour guide, at least to _some_ British tourists," he said with a bright smile and Bakura felt himself flush. "But normally I help Ishizu in the museum doing whatever it is she needs done. My training wasn't as broad as hers because I was raised to bear the Pharaoh's secret and didn't need to know anything but the ancient scriptures that pertained specifically to that. But my knowledge of the language and the hieroglyphs and hieratic texts are flawless, so I do a lot of translations and study texts for the archaeologists and Egyptologists."

"You're a glorified librarian!" Bakura grinned and Marik scowled.

"At least I'm not a _tourist_." Then he paused for a moment, looking at Bakura thoughtfully. "Actually, there is something else I do that I'd like to show you. Did you have any plans tomorrow morning?"

"You'll have to check with my tour guide," Bakura laughed. "He keeps my schedule."

"Well, your tour guide says your schedule is wide open. Pick you up at six?"

"In the _morning_?" Bakura complained.

"Not all of us are tourists and can spend all morning sleeping in," Marik shot back.

* * *

At six-thirty the next morning, Bakura found himself sleepily trailing behind Marik in a grocery store buying enough food to feed a small army. They'd even come in a car instead of on Marik's motorcycle, apparently to accommodate the groceries. Bakura didn't have the first clue why they were there and all of his queries were met with rebuffs and an impatient, "You'll see."

After the grocery store, Marik drove them to a rundown building in a dodgy part of town Bakura hadn't been to before. Directing Bakura to help with the groceries, Marik knocked on the door. It was opened by a man in his late forties or early fifties who greeted Marik with a large hug and a kiss on each cheek. Marik introduced him to Bakura as Nasir el-Abid, but gave no explanation as to who he was or why they were here as he followed the older man inside into what looked like an army mess hall, with an antiquated kitchen connected to a room with several tables and chairs set up like a cafeteria. There were two other men there to whom Marik spoke in Arabic. He introduced Bakura to them as well, but apparently none of them spoke English and again Bakura got no explanation of who they were beyond their names.

Following Marik's instructions, Bakura unpacked the groceries as Marik began to cook some sort of tomato sauce to go with a fava bean stew that had apparently been simmering on the stove overnight. Bakura was given the task of frying eggs.

"For whom are we cooking?" Bakura tried again.

Marik took a small taste of his tomato sauce. "Why do you go by your surname and not your given name?" he asked.

"You're changing the subject," Bakura pointed out.

"So are you, and now I'm changing it back again. Why do you go by Bakura instead of Ryou?"

Bakura sighed and gave up. "I don't know. I just always have."

"Isn't that what Yugi and everyone called your darker half, even in the memory world?"

Bakura shrugged. "I don't remember anything that happened in the memory world. I suppose they just didn't have any other name for him so they called him Bakura."

"Does it bother you to be known by the same name?"

"Your darker half was also called Marik."

"My darker half had no identity separate from me. Yours existed millennia before you were born."

"You're the librarian. Don't you know his real name?"

"No. We didn't even know the Pharaoh's name until Yugi found it and there isn't much from that period other than the Memory Stone. What we do have only mentions a King of Thieves."

"Perhaps his name was Ali Baba," Bakura commented dryly.

"May I call you Ryou instead of Bakura?" Marik asked suddenly.

"What?"

"In my mind, 'Bakura' is the King of Thieves. I'd rather call you Ryou."

Bakura was taken aback by this. No one but his father called him by his given name. His mother and sister had, too, but they were both dead. "I… I thought you said I needed to accept my connection to him."

"Yes," Marik agreed. "Accept it… and choose differently. Besides," he said quietly, "Ryou is a beautiful name. It suits you."

Bakura's stomach twisted in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant, but before he could answer, Nasir poked his head in the door and said something to Marik in Arabic.

"It's almost nine o'clock," Marik translated for Bakura then the two of them helped Nasir and the other two men bring the food out into the cafeteria-type room as another man Bakura hadn't seen before opened the door.

Bakura gasped as a steady stream of boys ranging in ages from seven to maybe thirteen or fourteen were ushered into the room. They were filthy and dressed in rags, many of them with bruises on their faces or arms. Most of them seemed to know Marik and they joked easily with him in Arabic while he and Bakura scooped stew and eggs onto trays for them.

"They're street children," Marik explained when the last child had been served and they were hungrily lapping up the food. "Runaways, abused mostly."

"I gathered," Bakura said softly.

"There isn't much in the way of shelters here. This is one of the few places where street children can get meals and sometimes have a doctor look at them. There's no place for them to sleep, though."

"What about the girls?"

"They have their own shelter. It's hard to tell in a tourist town like Luxor, but Egypt is a Muslim country and they like to keep the genders separate. Women take care of the girls and men take care of the boys."

Bakura nodded. "How often do you come here?"

"At least two or three times a week," Marik answered and Bakura realized that while there were some mornings that Marik had picked him up early to see this tomb or that, on many days he hadn't arrived until close to noon.

"Is this because of your father?" Bakura asked.

Marik nodded. "But not just that. Remember what I said your first night here about accepting your past and choosing differently? This is what I've chosen. My darker half took the abuse I suffered from my father and the anger I felt at what he did to Odion and turned it into hate. He—_I_—took suffering and made it into more suffering. Now I choose differently. I choose to take suffering and make it into easing suffering. If one of these boys can make it because I was here and understood, then it's worth it."

The rest of the morning Bakura watched as Marik talked and joked with the various boys as they ate. By eleven they had all left, probably to panhandle and try to make it through another day. As Bakura followed Marik out to the car, he reached out and put a hand on the Egyptian's shoulder.

"Marik, I want to stay in Egypt if Ishizu can arrange it. And if it's all right with you, I'd like to come back here with you again."

Marik smiled. "I'd like that, Ryou."

* * *

As Marik had promised, Ishizu had quite a lot of pull with the Egyptian government and it took only a couple of weeks to work out the necessary visa issues. By the time Bakura settled into his job as a tour guide for the museum and into the small studio apartment Marik and Odion had found for him not far from the large house where the entire Ishtar family lived together, Bakura finally had to admit to himself that he was completely smitten with Marik. When they were together, he alternately felt light and giddy or nervous and shy. When they were apart, he could think of nothing else. The problem was, he had no idea if Marik was similarly attracted to him or how to go about finding out. They had grown quite close and Marik clearly enjoyed spending time with him, and he was pretty sure Marik was gay, but there was a fair good distance between guessing he liked boys in general to knowing whether or not he liked Bakura specifically, and the conservative climate of Egypt wasn't exactly conducive to testing the waters.

Bakura had come to terms with his own sexual orientation as a fairly young teenager in secondary school in England. He'd done the usual adolescent experimenting; kissing girls and finding it disgusting, then kissing boys and finding that much more to his liking, but he'd been too young to really learn the ins and outs of dating while in England.

When he was fifteen he'd moved to Japan, but this was also when the Millennium Ring and its possessing spirit began dominating his life, leaving him neither the time nor inclination for romance. Other than a mercifully brief post-Duelist Kingdom crush on Tristan Taylor, who not only was straight but in hindsight totally wrong for Bakura, he had had absolutely no interest in romance whatsoever during his three years of high school in Japan. Fighting for one's life and sanity against an evil spirit possessing one's body tended to eclipse all other concerns.

This left him feeling woefully inept in the rituals of flirting and dating, and that wasn't even taking into account the huge cultural gulfs that lay between his western upbringing, his Japanese coming of age, and his current middle-eastern environment, nor the obstacles such an environment presented to courtship in general and gay relationships in particular. So while he knew he was absolutely crazy about Marik and ached to find out if the feeling was mutual, he didn't have the foggiest idea how to go about it.

In addition to this dilemma, he was beginning to feel like he was stagnating in his progress toward coming to terms with his darker half. The pure joy he felt when spending time with Marik was beginning to feel more like a way to hide from the pain and depression that always seemed to lurk just under the surface rather than a way to work through it. After two months in Egypt and one month working at the museum, life was becoming more of a routine than a new adventure and he found himself slipping into melancholy more and more often. Working at the shelter with Marik helped, but the fact that he was only beginning to learn Arabic and couldn't talk with any of the kids or the other workers made him feel isolated.

At work it was a little better. Most of the employees spoke English and when he wasn't leading a tour of English or American or Japanese tourists, he worked at the museum gift shop with a cheerful older man named Ahmed. He reminded Bakura a little bit of Yugi's grandfather, who owned a game shop back in Japan, and Bakura greatly enjoyed chatting with him about his kids and grandkids or his wife or telling him about life in England or Japan. He saw Odion and Rashida often, as well, and of course Marik frequently would come by the gift shop with coffee for Bakura and shisha tobacco for Ahmed. At the end of the day, Marik would usually offer Bakura a ride home and they'd go out to eat or have dinner at the Ishtars' with Ishizu, Odion, and Rashida, or get coffee and umm ali at The Crocodile, which Bakura was starting to think of as "their place."

At night, however, when he was alone, he would still dream of blood. He would awake with the taste of blood in is mouth and Marik's promise that it would get better ringing in his ears. But it wasn't getting better and the nights were getting more and more difficult as more and more of his counterpart's memories came to him.

"You look like hell, Ry," Marik observed one day over dinner.

"And you look lovely too," Bakura shot back testily.

"I'm serious. Have you not been sleeping?" Marik asked, and Bakura's irritation drained away as he heard the note of concern in his friend's voice.

"Not really," he admitted. "I keep dreaming of things _he _did while he was controlling me. Things I didn't remember. Last night I dreamed about knocking out Yugi's grandfather when he was watching me in the hospital and then beating the crap out of some poor child to get his duel disk from him."

"Battle City?" Marik asked, and Bakura nodded.

"Bloody hell," Bakura whispered, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes. "I'm trying to accept the things he's done, to own them and move on, but he was such a callous bloody bastard. Didn't give a damn about anyone but himself and his big plan for revenge. Sometimes remembering the things he's done, it's more than I can bear, Marik."

Marik was uncharacteristically silent and Bakura opened his eyes. "What? No words of advice?"

Marik's eyes narrowed. "To hell with it. I don't care what Ishizu says. It's time for you to see."

"See what?"

"Kul Elna."


	4. Scars

**4. Scars**

Bakura's understanding of Kul Elna was an incomplete patchwork of memories and stories from Yugi and his friends. For most of the time he'd been controlled by his darker self, it had been a mantra that meant nothing to him other than hatred, anger, and vengeance. He didn't know until after Yugi and the others had returned from their trip into the Pharaoh's memory world that Kul Elna had been a village. _His_ village, the place of his darker half's birth. All its inhabitants had been murdered by the Pharaoh's uncle, sacrificed to create the seven Millennium Items, and the village was burned to the ground. Bakura's counterpart, a young child at the time, was its only survivor.

Bakura only knew this from what Yugi had told him; he had no memories of Kul Elna or anything else from his counterpart's previous life; neither did he remember anything his counterpart had done to the Pharaoh and his friends while in the memory world. His last memories through his darker half were of stealing the Millennium Ring from Weevil Underwood and Rex Raptor, who had in turn stolen it, along with the other Millennium Items and the Egyptian god cards, from Yugi, and sending them to the Shadow Realm. He also remembered knocking out twelve-year-old Mokuba Kaiba to lure his older brother into a duel, and then following Yugi and his friends to Cairo and to Giza. Then there was nothing until he woke up on a dark underground stairway, exhausted and hungry, with Yugi and his friends having just returned from the memory world.

"Does this bring back any memories?" Marik asked him.

They were standing in an archaeological site in the desert outside of Luxor.

"No," Bakura answered. "At least not the kind you're thinking. It just makes me think of my father and the digs he used to go on. And, of course, the shrine where Yugi and the Pharaoh fought the Ceremonial Battle was around here somewhere, wasn't it?"

Marik nodded and knelt down, sifting through the sand with his hand. "After the shrine collapsed, interest in this site was renewed and archaeologists have been posing all sorts of theories about what happened to this village. Do you know what these are?" he asked, pointing to some dark remains.

Bakura knelt down beside him. He was not an archaeologist, but as the son of one, he knew a lot about fossils and artifacts.

He knew human bones when he saw them. Charred human bones.

Recoiling, he stood up quickly. "Dear Lord," he muttered softly.

Marik stood up and brushed his hands on his pants. "The archaeologists theorized that a battle was fought here thousands of years ago. Probably marauders from the north threatening the kingdom." He looked at Bakura. "Of course, you and I know differently, but as of yet, no records have been discovered to explain what happened. I doubt any will be; Akunadin covered his tracks well. The knowledge of what really happened at Kul Elna will likely die with our generation, Ry. But _you _must remember."

"I _don't_ remember," Bakura insisted. "I don't _want _to remember, Marik. Whatever you might think of my connection to my darker half, he did have a whole life he lived before I was ever born. This is not a part of _me."_

"But it is, Ry. It's a part of you because it's a part of him. It's what _made _him, don't you understand? He was a young child and he watched every single person he ever knew slaughtered. _In the name of the Pharaoh_. Do you understand why he hated Aknamkanon and his son, Atem, so much? Why he was _so_ angry, _so_ twisted?"

"It's not an excuse!" Bakura shouted angrily. "How many thousands of holocaust survivors are there, Marik? You don't see them all turned to homicidal maniacs, killing whomever they please to get revenge! It's no excuse!" he repeated, furious.

"Neither is this," Marik said calmly, removing his shirt. Bakura gaped at him, confused for a moment, until Marik turned around slowly, showing Bakura his back.

Bakura gasped. He of course knew about the scars that would be there, the hieroglyphs cruelly carved into his back when he was only ten. But _knowing about_ and _seeing_ were not the same. "Marik," he whispered.

"This is how my darker half was made," Marik said, his back still toward Bakura. "It's no excuse, but it's important to understand. He—I—_we_ didn't come out of a vacuum, fully formed evil. We became what we were because of what was done to us. We chose to take this evil and create more evil and that's our—that's _my_ responsibility. I cannot undo what I've done because of this. But I will never forget why. I have to understand why in order to know how I can choose to be different."

Bakura took a step toward Marik. He reached out tentatively, then lightly touched the scars on Marik's back, tracing them with his fingertips. He felt Marik shiver under his touch, but neither of them pulled away from the other. "Oh God, Marik, I'm so sorry."

"The scars Kul Elna has left on you aren't visible the way mine are," Marik said quietly as Bakura continued to trace the hieroglyphs etched into his back. "You didn't experience that for yourself, but you were left with all the pain and rage that was created here. Understand it, Ry, and you'll understand better how to move past it."

Bakura, however, was still transfixed by Marik's scars. "This happened to you because of him. Because of _me_," Bakura breathed, and Marik turned abruptly to face him.

"What?"

"The Tomb Keeper's initiation, this was all to preserve a record of what _he_ did so that when the Pharaoh returned he could be defeated. _I'm _the reason you went through this!"

"Have you completely lost your mind?" Marik cried. "Ry, you weren't even ten years old when this was done to me! How could you possibly be responsible?"

"Because we're the same. All the pain he caused, everyone who was hurt along the way, it's _my_ responsibility to bear now." He covered his mouth with his hand, feeling like he was going to be sick. "Oh God, Lady Macbeth was right. The blood will never come clean. It will never wash away, no matter how many street kids I feed or—"

"Shit," Marik spat, "Ishizu was right, you weren't ready for this." He grabbed Bakura's shoulders and shook him. "Ry you have to stop. I didn't show you that to pile on even more guilt. I brought you here for _this_." He stooped down and picked up one of the charred bones. "This is what was done to you!" He waved the bone in Bakura's face. When he tried to turn away, Marik grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "Look, Ry! Understand! You were a victim of his rage and he was a victim of Akunadin's. But the difference is you're a _survivor_. He _lived_ there, in that moment, in Kul Elna forever. You won't, Ry. You're going to get past this."

"I can't," Bakura gasped, then sunk to his knees burying his face in his hands, sobbing. "I can't. Nothing I do will be good enough, nothing I do will erase what I've already done…"

He felt Marik slide down beside him and pull him into a warm embrace. "You're right, you can't erase the past, Ry. If you think you can, if you think that's what we're doing with those kids in the shelter, you've got it wrong," he said softly into Bakura's hair. "The past is done, gone. You could save a million kids, a hundred million, and it wouldn't undo a single thing that's already been done. Understand the past as a part of who you are today, but that's all that matters, Ry. _Today_. What you do _today_. And today, you are a beautiful, amazing, kind, and loving person. Damaged, maybe. In pain. But all the more beautiful for it. Do you understand? That's why I brought you here. My scars make me who I am and I _like_ who I am, even if I don't like who I _was_. Kul Elna makes you who you are, and you… you…"

"What am I, Marik? Because I don't know! I don't—"

He turned his head toward Marik, the words dying in his throat when he found his face was bare centimeters from the Egyptian's. They froze for a moment, then Marik's lips brushed against his. He shivered and closed his eyes as the contact, feather-light at first, deepened until Marik's mouth was covering his. An unexpected warmth spread from his lips throughout his whole body, filling all the places that had been empty. He wrapped his arms around Marik's neck, pulling him closer, kissing him back with a hunger that took his breath away, and a moan escaped him.

Marik pulled back suddenly as if remembering himself. "I shouldn't… you're upset, and I'm taking advantage…."

"Not really complaining," Bakura murmured. "I've been trying for weeks to figure out how to tell you how much I—"

"Not here," Marik said abruptly, untangling himself from Bakura and standing. "It's too dangerous. We can go to your place, if you're sure you want…."

"I'm sure. I don't think I've ever been more sure about wanting something."

* * *

The ride back to his apartment was the longest fifteen minutes of Bakura's life. It was all he could do to sit up straight on the motorcycle behind Marik and not rest his head on the Egyptian's shoulder or do more with his hands than clasp them around Marik's waist just to hang on. When they finally arrived, they walked from the parking lot up to Bakura's room quietly with Marik following a good five feet behind him. Once inside, however, with the door locked, the shades drawn, and music turned up on Bakura's small clock radio to drown out any noise they might make, Marik grabbed him, pulling him roughly toward him, his lips greedily locking onto Bakura's. Bakura returned this kiss for a moment, then drew back.

"I want to see the scars again," he said.

"No," Marik shook his head. "That was stupid of me. I don't want to bring you back to that place again."

"You won't," Bakura assured him. "Please, Marik, I need to see them again. I need to see what made you who you are."

Marik regarded him for a moment, than slowly took off his shirt and turned around. Bakura sat behind him, first tracing the scars with his fingers, and then leaning forward and touching his lips to one of the scars near Marik's neck. He felt Marik shiver again and he began making a slow trail of soft kisses down the scars. "I thought…" he began between kisses, "that no one… could ever… understand." He was now at Marik's shoulder blade. "But you knew… exactly what I needed." The middle of his back. "I needed to see Kul Elna, Marik." His other shoulder blade. "I needed to see _this_…" just above his waist… "to remember… that I'm not the only one who is scarred." Back up Marik's spine. "If you can survive, then I can, too." His shoulder. "I needed this, Marik." His neck. "I need _you_."

"Ry," Marik breathed, turning and curling his hands into Bakura's hair, pressing against him as his lips captured Bakura's once more, pushing him back onto the couch that was almost the only piece of furniture in the small apartment. The kiss grew more fevered and then Bakura gasped as he was filled with the sudden sensation of Marik's mind melting into his. He could feel Marik's longing and affection and concern and then he could feel his own desire and infatuation reflecting back through Marik, then Marik's through him again, in an infinite loop that was rather like two mirrors placed across from each other, each a reflection of the other reflecting back. Not since his darker half had finally left for good had he felt this connected to someone, this completely a part of their being and he a part of theirs. Only where that had been a brutal, terrifying invasion, this was an intensely intimate sharing, a knowing that was so excruciatingly thrilling it was almost painful when it ended as abruptly as it began and Marik pulled away from him, inhaling sharply.

"What the hell was _that_?" Marik panted, his eyes wide as he stared into Bakura's.

"I don't know," Bakura murmured, feeling like he was drowning in the longing he felt. "I've never felt anything like that in my life. It was like for a moment you were a part of me."

Marik's eyes widened and he jerked away, rising from the couch. "Shit," he moaned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Bakura sat up, alarmed. "What's wrong?"

"I… oh shit, Ry, I should've never… you aren't ready…"

"I think I can decide that for myself, thank you very much," Bakura shot back.

Marik grabbed his shirt from where he'd dropped it on the floor and started pulling it back over his head. "I have to go."

"What? Marik! What's the matter with you?"

"I'm sorry, Ry. I'll talk to you later," Marik said. He unlocked the door and opened it, stepping out into the hall and pulling the door shut behind him before Bakura could even scramble up off the couch. When he did make it to the door, he stopped, his hand on the doorknob. It would be stupid to try and chase Marik down the hallway or outside the building. The last thing he needed was to make his neighbors suspicious. Slowly he let go of the doorknob and went back to the couch. Flopping down on it, he rubbed his eyes with his hand, trying to figure out exactly what had gone wrong and why after that moment of brief, intense connection he now found himself completely alone once more.


	5. Lost

**5. Lost **

"Are you all right my friend? You look lost."

Bakura jerked his head up from the counter where he'd been staring at a cartouche pendant under the glass. Ahmed was looking at him with concern.

"Sorry," Bakura mumbled sheepishly. "I'm a bit under the weather today." He turned around and busied himself reshelving some trinkets behind the counter.

Ahmed clucked sympathetically. "I think I know what is wrong with you. You are in love, aren't you?"

Bakura turned sharply. "What makes you say that?"

"It is obvious. Only being in love can give a man _that_ look." Ahmed smiled. "So who is she? Someone beautiful, yes?"

"_She_…" Bakura repeated dazedly, then shook his head. "Someone beautiful, yes," he said ruefully, "but confusing."

"Aren't all women?" Ahmed chuckled.

"Ahmed, I don't mean to be rude, but I'd rather not talk about this. It's rather personal."

"Of course, Bakura, I understand. Don't worry. It will all work out in the end, you'll see."

"I hope you're right."

"Listen, why don't you go take a coffee break now. Find your friend Marik and maybe talk it over with him. I think maybe he could cheer you up."

"Doubtful," Bakura replied, forcing himself not to roll his eyes at the irony. He did want desperately to talk to Marik and ask him what had happened last night, but certainly not here at the museum. Then again, coffee sounded like a fabulous idea. "But I'll take you up on the break offer," he added. He came out from behind the counter and walked of the little gift shop intending to go to the snack bar nearby. Before he was ten steps away from the gift shop, however, a man who seemed vaguely familiar stopped him and said something to him in Arabic. Bakura answered in the one Arabic phrase he knew perfectly from memory: _"I'm sorry, I don't speak Arabic."_

"Ah, English then?" the man asked with a heavy accent. "I should've known," he added when Bakura nodded. "I said that we've met before, at that club at the Winter Palace, remember? You're Marik Ishtar's _friend_, right?"

Bakura frowned, trying to remember this man and uncomfortable with the way he emphasized the word _friend_. "I'm a friend of the Ishtars, yes," he said carefully.

The man gave him a slippery smile and stuck his hand out. "Of course. I am Wajdi Muizz. I am also a _friend_ of Marik Ishtar. And your name?"

"Bakura," he answered, shaking Wajdi's hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Bakura. You work here at the museum, yes? Is that how you and Marik met?"

"I work at the museum, but I met the Ishtars at a card game tournament in Japan two years ago."

"Japan? What brings you to Egypt, then?"

"My father was an archaeologist and his stories made me curious. Ishizu was kind enough to offer me a job. Now if you'll excuse me, I really—"

Wajdi took a step closer. "Listen, Bakura, you seem like an interesting young man. Perhaps I can buy you a drink at the Winter Palace later and you can tell me about this card tournament in Japan? I am very curious about card games."

"I don't think so," Bakura said, taking a step back, feeling more and more ill at ease. "I—"

"Wajdi!" he heard a voice call out sharply, and Bakura looked up to see Marik coming toward them, looking furious. He barely glanced at Bakura, just barked something in Arabic at Wajdi.

It was then that Bakura remembered where he'd seen Wajdi before. He was the man with whom Marik had exchanged terse words one of the first nights Bakura had been in Luxor. He was the reason they'd switched from clubs and bars to coffee houses and cafés. Clearly they had some sort of past history, but Marik certainly didn't seem like he considered him a friend. On the contrary, he looked thoroughly annoyed as they talked in Arabic and Marik was gesturing in a way that Bakura interpreted as "get out."

Wajdi glanced Bakura's way. He said something else in a sort of slippery tone and then Bakura heard a gasp behind him. He turned to see Ahmed in the doorway of the gift shop. Marik saw him too.

And then Marik lost it.

With a look of fury in his eyes that made Bakura feel like the Egyptian's darker half had suddenly returned, Marik grabbed Wajdi by the shirt and pushed him against the wall.

"Marik!" Bakura cried, and Marik turned to him and started speaking in Japanese. It threw him for a moment; in the entire two months he'd been in Egypt, he and Marik had never spoken to each other in Japanese, only English. He only used his Japanese when leading a tour of visitors from Japan, and now hearing it out of context, it took Marik repeating himself for Bakura to understand that he was telling him to go back into the gift shop, that he would explain later. He then spat something in Arabic to Wajdi that was clearly a threat of some sort, but Wajdi only laughed. Marik pushed him against the wall again then turned and said something to Ahmed that made the older man scurry back into the gift shop.

The commotion was starting to draw attention. Out of nowhere, Odion appeared. He and Marik exchanged words and then Odion glowered and grabbed Wajdi by the arm. Wajdi cowered a moment—Odion could be terrifying when he wanted to be—but then he looked at Marik and began what Bakura could only assume by the tone of voice was a string of curses. Odion looked as furious as Marik, and together they hauled Wajdi away from the gift shop.

"Please, Bakura, come away, you don't need to see this," a voice said at his shoulder and Bakura turned to see Ahmed standing beside him.

"Ahmed, what was that all about?" he asked.

"Do not concern yourself," Ahmed answered dismissively. "That man was being very insulting… to the Ishtar family. Marik and Odion will take care of it."

"What did he say?"

Ahmed shook his head. "I won't repeat it. Do not concern yourself with the lies of a sick man. Go take your coffee break."

"Ahmed—"

"Just go," Ahmed said, and then gave him an odd smile. "And don't worry, I think you will find much reason for cheer very soon."

And with that rather cryptic statement and a knowing wink, Ahmed went back into the gift shop, leaving Bakura for the second time in as many days wondering what the hell had just happened.

* * *

If Ahmed fancied himself a prophet, he was an extraordinarily poor one, Bakura mused. A week after the incident with Wajdi, not only had Bakura not found "much reason for cheer," he was more depressed than ever. The explanation Marik had promised when he was arguing with Wajdi never came, and neither did one for his abrupt departure from Bakura's apartment the night before. In fact, he was clearly avoiding Bakura. He'd come by the gift shop with coffee and shisha like always, but only when Ahmed was around, never when Bakura was alone. He avoided looking Bakura in the eye and always left work either earlier or later than him, no longer offering a ride home or an invitation to dinner, although Odion came by several times when he was leaving and offered to drive him home. Even on the mornings when he and Marik were supposed to cook breakfast at the shelter, Marik never showed, leaving Bakura struggling in a room full of volunteers and children who spoke only Arabic.

After a week of this, depression started turning to anger. He vowed to corner Marik that night before leaving the museum and force him to explain what was going on. As he was getting ready to leave, however, Odion and Rashida appeared, dragging him and Ahmed into some small talk. He was about to make excuses to go find Marik when Odion said with an odd formality, "Mr. Bakura, on behalf of my sister, My family would be most honored to join you for dinner tonight at the El Kababgy."

"Excuse me?" he asked, confused. The way Odion had phrased it sounded as if he were accepting an invitation that had been issued by Bakura. Not only had he issued no such invitation, he really had no interest in a dinner engagement with Marik that included his entire family. What he wanted was five minutes alone and an _explanation_.

"My wife, sister, brother, and I would be honored to join you for dinner at the El Kababgy," Odion repeated. "The restaurant near the Winter Palace?"

"Yes, I'm familiar with the restaurant, but—"

Odion cut him off by taking his arm and leaning in close. "Ishizu likes lilies," he said conspiratorially.

Bakura stared at him. Ishizu likes lilies? Why on earth would Odion be telling him that? He saw Ahmed smile and turn his back, pretending to be busy with some new trinkets that had come in. As soon as Ahmed moved away, Odion leaned in even further and began whispering under his breath in Japanese: _"Please don't ask any questions. Come to dinner, dress formally, bring lilies for Ishizu, and all will be explained afterwards."_

Bakura pulled away from him, angry. _"I was promised an explanation a week ago, but none has been forthcoming,"_ he hissed back in Japanese.

"_Things are not as they seem, Ryou,"_ Odion whispered in Japanese. Before Bakura even had time to register the use of his given name, which so far only Marik ever used, Odion stood up straight and said brightly in English, "We look forward to dinner tonight. Seven o'clock?"

Bakura glared at him. "Yes, fine, seven o'clock," he replied. Odion gave him a very Japanese bow of the head and Rashida smiled warmly at him, and the two of them left.

"I told you," Ahmed said with a broad smile when Odion and Rashida were gone. "Things are looking up for you, my British friend."

Bakura shook his head. "If you say so, Ahmed."


	6. Coming Clean

**6. Coming Clean **

The El Kababgy was a well-known restaurant in Luxor. Located on the Nile near the famous White Palace resort hotel, it was always crowded and rarely intimate. It was an odd choice for a dinner engagement that was supposed to include an explanation of whatever clandestine affairs Marik and Odion were involved in because of Wajdi Muizz, and as annoyed as Bakura was with Marik's behavior over the past week, he couldn't help but be curious as to why this dinner had been arranged. He arrived a little before seven dressed in a suit and tie and carrying a bouquet of white lilies. He was ushered to a large table by a maître d' who thankfully spoke English. A few minutes later the Ishtars arrived. Ishizu and Rashida both wore elegant Egyptian dresses and Odion and Marik were wearing western suits and ties. Marik looked thoroughly uncomfortable and Bakura wasn't sure if it was the suit, the circumstances, or a combination of the two.

As they approached the table, Bakura rose from his seat and handed the lilies to Ishizu. She smiled and blushed and thanked him in a very demure way that was decidedly out of character for Ishizu. She took a seat opposite Bakura, with Marik between them on Bakura's left. Odion sat on Bakura's right and Rashida sat beside him next to Ishizu.

"Thank you for coming, Ryou," Marik said quietly, and Bakura realized it was the first time in a week Marik had looked and spoken directly to him. He wasn't sure what to say in response, so he merely nodded his head. Marik held his gaze a moment longer, a strange expression in his eyes, and then he looked away.

The dinner was one of the most bizarre evenings Bakura had even experienced. All of the Ishtars were behaving oddly and Bakura had the eerie feeling that he was taking part in some sort of drama for which he alone had been denied the script. Ishizu was acting quiet and shy where she was usually commanding and regal. Odion and Marik took turns telling stories about their family history, half of which Bakura knew for a fact were lies. Marik had been raised in an underground tomb and hadn't seen the light of day until he was ten and Odion and Ishizu had conspired to sneak him away from his father and his duties as the heir to the Tomb Keepers, so stories about trips to the beach and boating on the Nile when they were children were pure rubbish. When they weren't telling him about their family, they were asking about his: his father, his prospects for the future. Again, it felt like he was playing some scripted role. Ishizu had met Bakura's father years ago and they all knew that Bakura had no real plans for the future beyond working in the museum and staying in Luxor until he felt it was time to leave.

When the waiter came to ask if they wanted dessert, Odion said, "Ryou, we would be honored if you would join us at our house for dessert and coffee. Ishizu makes the most wonderful umm ali."

Bakura could not for the life of him picture Ishizu in the kitchen baking anything, so obviously this was part of whatever role he was supposed to be playing. Perhaps in the privacy of their house, away from the eyes of whoever they thought might be watching their little drama, he would finally get his explanation.

"Yes, of course, I'd love to," he replied.

They drove back to the Ishtar's house in silence, Odion and Bakura in front with Marik and the women in the back. When they entered the front door and closed it behind him, Ishizu leaned against it with a sigh. "Well, that was the most uncomfortable evening of my life." She looked at Bakura and smiled. "Bakura, thank you for your patience with us. I think it's high time you had an explanation." She gave Marik a pointed look and he scowled at her.

"You're the one who came up with this whole plan, including the timetable," Marik snapped peevishly.

"But I'm not the one who got on the wrong side of an idiot like Wajdi and hasn't been forthright from the beginning," she said darkly, and Bakura was relieved to see her acting more like herself.

"Yes, yes, good night sister," Marik waved impatiently.

Ishizu gave Bakura another smile. "Good night Bakura, and thank you again for your patience. If you're still speaking to my brother after tonight, we would love to have you over again under less… trying circumstances."

"Thank you, Ishizu," Bakura said, still thoroughly confused.

"Good night, sister," Marik repeated emphatically, and she nodded.

"Good night," Odion said and Rashid came over and surprised Bakura by giving him a small hug.

"Don't be too angry with Marik. He didn't mean for any of this to happen," she said. "We all enjoy your company and would like to see more of you."

Bakura didn't know what to say to this. "Th-thank you," he stammered, blushing.

Ishizu, Odion, and Rashida filed out of the room and Bakura looked at Marik expectantly. "I take it I won't be getting any umm ali this evening," he said dryly.

Marik chuckled nervously. "No. My sister can tell you from memory the words to every prayer said over a Pharaoh's grave and every ingredient in a proper Egyptian embalming ritual, but I'm certain she hasn't the first clue what goes into umm ali."

"Then let's get right to the part where you tell me what the hell is going on, shall we?"

Marik sighed. "Come into the study. We can have more privacy there."

He led Bakura to an elegant room with leather furniture and bookshelves lining the wall. Closing the door behind them, Marik motioned for Bakura to sit down on the couch. He himself remained standing, fidgeting nervously. He pulled at his collar, loosening his tie, and then finally pulling it off in irritation.

"I feel like an idiot in these clothes," he complained.

"Marik," Bakura said impatiently, "I believe Ishizu indicated you have something to say to me?"

"Easy for her to say. She only knows half the story," Marik growled.

"Which puts her half a story ahead of me."

Marik sighed again and looked at Bakura—really looked at him properly—for the first time in a week. "Ryou, I'm so sorry about all of this. I… shit." He put his hand to his forehead in frustration. "I don't know where to begin." Then he looked up at Bakura again. "The thing is, Ry, I'm really attracted to you. I've been attracted to you since you got off that train two months ago. And then I got to know you better and, well, the more I get to know you, the more attracted I am to you. I _really_ like you. I like you a _lot."_

Bakura's eyes widened and his heart started thumping a little harder, but he also felt his irritation rise. "And how exactly does that translate to walking out on me and then avoiding me for a week?"

"Actually, that's two different questions with two completely different answers," Marik said, finally sitting down on the opposite side of the couch from Bakura. "I'll answer the second one first because it's easier to explain. You are not completely unaware, I assume, that this isn't England or Japan. My feelings for you aren't exactly… encouraged here."

"I know that," Bakura replied. "I assume that's why you wanted us to leave Kul Elna and go back to my apartment."

"Yes, but I'm not sure you know exactly how risky it is. If we were discovered we could be arrested and held indefinitely. Threatened and tortured. Some men are even forced to undergo hormone 'therapy' or some such nonsense," Marik said. "There aren't any laws against homosexuality per se, but they'll use debauchery and lechery laws, anything they can come up with if they think you're a sinner. Like there's anyone who isn't, the hypocritical bastards," he snorted.

"Now of course, I grew up here and even after spending the first ten years of my life locked underground, I learned pretty quickly as a teenager how to get by. I'm something of a rebel anyway, what with the way I dress and all the jewelry I wear. I'm sure you've noticed I don't exactly fit the norm of the good Muslim man, and of course, we weren't raised Muslim anyway. We were taught the ancient Egyptian beliefs which were, ironically, far more liberal than modern views of sexuality. Because of Ishizu's position, our family commands a lot of respect in Egypt, even if we aren't Muslim. But that only goes so far, and if I'm ever caught, I don't think even Ishizu could get me out of trouble. But frankly, sometimes it's just worth the risk," he said, giving Bakura a meaningful look.

Bakura didn't know what to say, so he was grateful that Marik continued. "But then came Wajdi," he said, spitting his name like a curse.

"Yes, who is he and what was that all about at the museum? You had words with him a couple of months ago at one of those nightclubs when I first arrived, too."

Marik nodded. "He and I… well, we went out a few times. He was nice enough at first, but got very clingy and possessive and I broke it off pretty quickly and, well, that didn't sit too well with him. When he saw me at the club with you he was just being catty and I thought it would be fine if we stayed away from the places he frequents. But apparently he saw us, that day…"

"In Kul Elna?" Bakura cried.

"Oh God no, not in Kul Elna. We would be completely screwed if he actually _saw_ anything," Marik shook his head. "No, he has a 'friend' who lives in your building. He saw us go into your apartment together. So the next day he came looking for me at the museum and lo and behold, there you were. I was coming to arrange a time to talk to you about what happened the night before when I saw him there with you, _coming onto you in public_, and I was furious, Ry. Not jealous, understand. It was pretty obvious you weren't interested. It's just it was so damned _dangerous_. And then he started making insinuations about you and me, right in front of Ahmed. That's when it hit me: I wasn't just putting myself at risk, I was putting _you_ at risk and I wasn't sure you even knew what the risks were. I was so stupid, losing my head at Kul Elna like that. Anyone could have seen us. You were in danger and it was _my_ fault. That's when I lost it. I threw him against the wall and said the first thing that popped into my head. I told him you were in love with Ishizu and that I was at your apartment because I was arranging for you to begin courting her."

Bakura choked. "_What_?"

"I know, but it's the first thing I could think of. Of course, Wajdi knew it was crap, but I wasn't trying to convince _him_, I was trying to convince _Ahmed_ and anyone else who might have heard his accusations. I told Wajdi that he would not be allowed to insult a family friend who might actually be able to bring the family out of our embarrassment at not having found someone for Ishizu to marry, blah blah blah. Actually, it's a pretty good cover story and explained all the time we spend together quite nicely and as long as it all looks good on the surface, no one is going to go digging a lot further, certainly not on nothing more than the word of sleazebag like Wajdi against the honor of Ishizu Ishtar. Odion showed up then and figured out what was going on pretty quickly and we kicked his ass out of the museum. Then I went straight to Ishizu and told her everything. She's the one who concocted this whole ridiculous dinner plan. She wanted to make it look good, make sure lots of people saw us in public with you bringing her flowers and Odion and I being the dutiful brothers protecting her honor."

He sighed. "She thinks quite highly of you, Ryou. She was really angry with me for not being up front with you sooner and giving you a chance to decide for yourself if the risks were worth it. She told me I should stay away from you for a week, let Odion do some of the arrangements so it looked more proper. That's why I've been avoiding you this week."

Bakura shook his head. "So Ahmed and everyone else at the museum thinks I'm in love with your sister. And that you and Odion approve."

"Yes."

"So is she in love with me, too, or is my heart to be broken by unrequited love?"

Marik snickered. "I'll let you decide how it ends. You can tell Ahmed tomorrow that she's madly in love with you but that you decided she just isn't your type for all I care. I just wanted to make sure you were above reproach so that if Wajdi comes around again he can't impugn your reputation. I don't care if he drags me through the mud, but he will _not_ touch you," he said darkly.

Bakura swallowed. "I'm flattered, Marik. Not just that you would go to such lengths for me, but that your whole family would. But you still haven't explained about what happened at my apartment. Why did you walk out like that? I… I thought we'd connected. That we… oh hell, I don't know."

Marik closed his eyes. "This one is harder, Ry. Do you understand what happened when we were together that night?"

"I'm rather inexperienced thanks to the bulk of my adolescent years spent battling the invasion of the psycho spirit from hell rather than finding cute young boys to date, but I'm not an idiot, Marik," Bakura said peevishly. "You kissed me, I kissed you; I can work out where it was going from there."

"That's not what I mean," Marik said softly. "When we were kissing and then all of a sudden it was like I was a part of you. That's how you put it, anyway. I could see through you and you through me."

"Yes," Bakura breathed, shivering at the memory. "That was bloody _brilliant_. Wasn't it?"

"No," Marik moaned, "you don't understand what happened. Do you remember much of Battle City and our… association there?"

"You mean our darker halves working together? I remember bits and pieces."

"Ry, when I had the Millennium Rod, I used it to control people. I actually went into their minds and controlled them. It was nothing short of mind rape. I did it to my Rare Hunters. I did it to that moron Bandit Keith. I did it to Joey Wheeler and Téa Gardner just to fuck with Yugi and the Pharaoh. In a way, I did it to Mai Valentine, although it wasn't exactly the same thing. Actually, it was worse," he said, looking ashamed. "But anyway, I did it to you, too, Ryou. Not my darker half. _Me_." He patted his chest for emphasis. "_I_ did that to these people, some of whom actually consider me a friend now in spite of it. That's why when my darker half took over completely I was able to use Téa to talk to my sister and to bring you back from the Shadow Realm after you'd lost to Yugi. It's why I was able to appear to you when you dueled my darker half. Because I'd already laid the groundwork. I'd already opened the pathway into your mind giving me free access."

Bakura considered this. "So that's why we were able to connect like that."

Marik gaped at him. "_Connect_? Do you understand what I'm talking about here? I _violated_ you. It wasn't enough that you had one psychopathic nutjob invading your mind and your body, I had to do it, too. It was like fucking gang rape, Ry, that's what I did to you. And then the other night when you were upset, when you were hurting and you needed comfort, I _did it again._" Marik wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the same gesture he'd done that night, Bakura remembered. He slid closer to Marik on the couch and took both his hands.

"You're wrong, Marik."

"I'm not wrong," Marik insisted.

"Maybe not about Battle City, but we're not talking about Battle City, are we? All those things you said to me at Kul Elna, they apply to you as well. 'The past is gone. Understand the past as a part of who you are today, but that's all that matters. What you do _today._' Your words, not mine."

"But that's just it. I did the same thing to you all over again. In the present, here in Luxor in your own apartment," Marik said miserably.

"How can you not see that it is not the same thing at all?" Bakura asked, dumfounded. "How can it be an invasion if I _wanted _you there? Marik, why do you think it didn't happen until we were kissing? I _wanted_ you. _All_ of you. And there you were. It was the most amazing feeling I've ever had. I would do anything to feel that connected to you again."

Marik stared at him. "Even now? Even after everything that happened this past week, the risk I put you through?"

"What if I happen to think the risk is worth it, too?"

Marik leaned closer to him. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Then don't leave again."

Marik's lips met his and Bakura melted against him, winding his hands into Marik's soft, blond hair and pulling him deeper into the kiss. Marik moaned and before Bakura knew what was happening, Marik had pushed him back on the couch and was on top of him, body pressed against him, tongue working feverishly on his. Bakura arched his back and Marik moaned again.

"God, I want you, Ry."

"You have me," Bakura murmured in reply, and then he was lost again as he felt Marik's mind mingle with his until he could no longer separate what was him and what was his lover.

* * *

"You have to leave," Marik said reluctantly as Bakura lay curled up with him on the leather couch in the Ishtars' study, his head on Marik's chest. "You can't spend the night here. People will notice and there will be no logical explanation for it."

"I know. Just a moment longer," Bakura said, nestling against Marik more tightly.

Marik sighed in mock exasperation. "You're probably one of those snooze-button people. 'Just five more minutes….'"

"Guilty as charged." He looked up at Marik. "So what happens now? How do we continue to see each other without anyone getting suspicious?"

"Well, as the only living blood relative of my sister, I grant you permission to continue courting her."

Bakura raised his eyebrows. "And what does Ishizu have to say about that?"

"Ishizu is a woman," Marik said dismissively. "She has no say."

Bakura snorted. "Meanwhile, in the real world where she owns you…."

Marik laughed. "It was her idea. I already told you, she really likes you. She told me she would be happy to continue the ruse. I think her exact words to me were 'if you didn't completely screw this up, you idiot, and he still wants to see you….' To be honest, she gets a lot of shit for being single, but she's too invested in her work to want to date anyone. If she had a regular suitor, one who didn't actually expect to end up married to her, it would save her a lot of grief, at least for a while."

Bakura nodded thoughtfully. "So how exactly would that work?"

"Well, this being Egypt, you can't just date a woman. A respectable woman like Ishizu would never be alone with a man and respectable brothers like Odion and myself would never allow it to happen. You will be invited over to dinner… with the whole family. You may be allowed to be seen in public with her… if Odion or I are there as well. And, of course, as her only blood brother, my concern for my sister is my first priority. She is a person of standing here and you are a foreigner with no prospects. We're willing to look past that because you are a family friend and your father has connections here, and frankly, the fact that Ishizu has not yet married is getting to be an embarrassment to the family and she doesn't have any other prospects. However, understand that I will have to spend a lot of time with her suitor to make sure he is worthy of her."

"A lot of time?" Bakura repeated suggestively.

"Hours of time every day. I must know you inside and out before I will consent to giving you my sister's hand. There is no sacrifice I'm not willing to make for my sister's honor," he said seriously.

Bakura giggled. "Inside and out, eh? Who knew that Egyptian courting practices would make dating a woman actually sound like fun?"

Marik chuckled and kissed him. "Seriously though, Ry, you have to go," he said, then kissed him again.

"That's not exactly helping your argument," Bakura breathed.

"I'll see you first thing tomorrow morning at the shelter," Marik reminded him.

Bakura propped himself up on his elbow and looked at Marik. "You know, I've been thinking. As much as I love helping those children, maybe there's something else I should be doing. I… I think I'd like to find some refugees to work with instead. People who have survived ethnic cleansing, who lost their homes, everything they owned."

"People like the villagers of Kul Elna," Marik finished for him.

"Yes."

"You can't change what happened thousands of years ago," Marik said.

"No. But maybe I can find a way to make enough of a difference for one or two refugees that there won't be enough hate left to turn them into another King of Thieves. _Today_."

Marik looked up at him. "I think that's a brilliant idea, Ry."

Bakura smiled and gave Marik one more kiss before getting up, wincing as he peeled himself off the leather. "Next time perhaps we can use your room? Or my apartment?"

"Whatever you'd like. Need a ride home?"

"Oh, I think that would only lead to no good," Bakura grinned. "I can walk."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite sure."

The walk home was exhilarating. It was finally close enough to winter that the evenings were actually brisk and Bakura felt refreshed by the time he reached his apartment. He went to bed thinking of his evening with Marik and of finding a refugee shelter where he could help out.

When he awoke the next morning, it was the first time in months where he didn't taste blood.


	7. Confidence

**7. Confidence**

Ramadan had just ended and it was approaching Marik's birthday when Bakura realized they were also coming up on the one-year anniversary of the date Yugi defeated his darker self and sent him away for good. On the pretext of buying a birthday gift for Marik, Bakura traveled to Cairo alone to visit with Yugi. Before leaving Luxor, he'd arranged with Ishizu to close the monument in Giza where the Memory Tablet was displayed so he and Yugi could visit it alone, a sort of private pilgrimage. The place where Yugi had followed the Pharaoh, his other self, into the memory world.

"We're friends, Yugi, aren't we?" Bakura asked as they looked at the tablet that depicted a Pharaoh who looked a lot like Yugi battling with a monster that looked a lot like Dark Magician against a guardian who looked a lot like Seto Kaiba using a monster that looked a lot like Blue-Eyes White Dragon.

Yugi looked startled. "Of course we're friends, Bakura."

"Do you ever find that ironic? We each of us played hosts to ancient spirits who were mortal enemies, after all."

"That was them and this is us," Yugi said carefully.

Bakura smiled. "Not quite. I told you, find your own way to come to terms with the Pharaoh's connection to you. I've found my way to come to turns with my connection to the Spirit of the Ring." He thought of the Sudanese refugee camp he'd recently begun volunteering for.

Yugi regarded him thoughtfully. "You do look happy, Bakura. I don't think I've ever seen you look really happy before. _Cheerful_, maybe, but not really happy."

"Well, that's not surprising. The entire time I knew you until a year ago I was possessed by a homicidal maniac. Doesn't scream contentment, does it?"

"But you really have found a way to come to terms with it, haven't you?"

"Several ways, actually," Bakura confirmed.

"Like?"

Bakura told him about working with the refugees.

"That's awesome, Bakura."

Bakura looked around him to see if they were alone. He knew they would be since Ishizu had arranged to close the monument for everyone but them, but still, he'd grown accustomed to being overly cautious.

"Can I tell you something else?" Bakura asked. "In confidence?"

"Sure."

"I've fallen in love."

Yugi's eyes widened and a smile spread slowly across his face. "That's _really_ awesome," he enthused. "Does this person feel the same about you?"

Bakura raised his eyebrow, noting the very gender-neutral phrasing. "Yes, I think so," he said warily. "We haven't actually used that word, but we've been together for almost two months now and the feeling is definitely mutual."

"I'm so happy for you, Bakura. You really deserve to be happy."

Bakura looked at the stone carving that so closely resembled his short friend. "Am I to assume by the way you phrased your question that it would not shock you to hear that I'm talking about a man?"

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Yugi's head dip in embarrassment, but not surprise. "It's none of my business, Bakura."

"Does it bother you?"

Yugi snorted and looked at Bakura with a wry grin. "As you pointed out yourself, we each were hosts to ancient spirits who were mortal enemies. If I were going to be bothered by you, I don't think your being gay would exactly be top of the list."

"Touché," Bakura laughed, surprised by Yugi's sudden candor. It struck him that this was more characteristic of the Pharaoh than of the Yugi he used to know. Perhaps Yugi was finding a way to come to terms with his other self after all.

He sobered, remembering that there was more to tell. "You should also know that this man I'm seeing is someone you know."

This, finally, did surprise Yugi. "Someone I know? Who would I know in Lux—?" His eyes widened and Bakura knew the pieces had just fallen into place. "_Marik_?" he asked.

Bakura nodded, then watched as Yugi processed that. Then his friend smiled. "You know, I can see that. You two would be a great couple."

Bakura smiled, grateful to have someone outside of the Ishizu family with whom he could confide. "Thank you, Yugi. That means a lot to me."

"I'm glad you're happy. You and Marik both."

"You understand you can't tell anyone," Bakura said. "We could get in a lot of trouble. That sort of thing is frowned upon here."

Yugi nodded. "Yeah, I suppose it would be. I won't say anything, Bakura."

"Thank you."

"You're being careful, though? Marik doesn't strike me as, uh, very _reserved_."

"No," Bakura laughed again, "but he grew up here and he knows how to stay safe. And not just from the police."

Yugi nodded, understanding his meaning.

"And we have a brilliant cover story. You see, I'm in love with and courting Ishizu."

Yugi choked, which, if Bakura recalled, was exactly his reaction when Marik had told him the same thing.

"Okaaaaay," Yugi said.

"Well, I figured I should tell you since Ishizu and Professor Hawkins run in the same circles. I imagine eventually word will get back to him that we're courting."

"Courting?"

"You don't really 'date' in Egypt, you 'court.' We can't be alone together without Marik or Odion acting as chaperones, that sort of thing. Of course, Marik and I, as prospective brothers-in-law, can spend as much time alone together as we like."

Yugi laughed. "Okay, now _that's_ ironic. The rules for dating are so conservative that it's actually _easier_ for a gay couple to have a relationship than a straight one."

"Funny how that works out, isn't it?" Bakura grinned.

"And you're happy?" Yugi asked.

"Delirious," Bakura confirmed. He looked at his friend. "What about you, Yugi? Are you happy?"

Yugi frowned. "I… yeah, I guess I am. Not delirious, but I'm glad I'm here. I'm glad I'm studying Egyptology."

"Well, I expect for you to be delirious you'd have to be in New York, not Egypt," Bakura said suggestively. Yugi turned deep red but didn't deny it. "But what about the Pharaoh?" Bakura continued. "Are you coming to terms with your connection to him?"

Yugi was quiet for a moment. "I don't know, Bakura. I don't know if I'll ever understand what exactly he meant to me. Which is pretty stupid if you think about it. If you can come to terms with your _evil_ spirit, I should be able to come to terms with my _good_ one."

"Not necessarily. Hate is pretty straightforward. Love is infinitely more complicated. Give it time. I have every confidence you'll figure it out in due time."

Yugi nodded, looking once more at the carving of the Pharaoh that looked like him. That _was_ him. "Yeah, I suppose I will."

_-END-_


End file.
